


Yuri's diary

by RecDra



Category: Doki Doki Literature Club! (Visual Novel)
Genre: Angst and Hurt/Comfort, F/M, Implied/Referenced Self-Harm, Knives, Suicidal Thoughts
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-11-28
Updated: 2017-11-30
Packaged: 2019-02-08 00:47:11
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 4,474
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12853101
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RecDra/pseuds/RecDra
Summary: A multi-part character study of Yuri from act 1 of DDLC. This fic will only take place in act 1, potentially delving deeper into non-canon material as it goes on.Yuri confesses her troubled mind to her diary, and struggles to open up to somebody she loves.





	1. Day 1

_Dearest diary,_

_What do I matter?_

_What does my mind matter, if I cannot expose it to others?_

_I realise posing these questions to you will not help me. You certainly know me better than any of my classmates - I write my innermost feelings and desires inside of your pages, while I keep them secure inside my chest around this entire outside world. I am quiet, so nobody listens. I am quiet, but all that I experience and feel wants to emerge at every step._

_And as it tries, I press down on the lid, hard, ever harder, and when it drips out at the sides, I cannot help but feel ashamed._

_I think it is time I cut my bread again. Of course you know what this euphemism entails; I used to not employ it around you. Just a couple pages back, I smeared the result on your virgin pages, and you never batted an eye (you never do). The way it makes me feel is a release unlike any other, a guilty climax. What better way to unleash what has been subdued than by letting it overflow? A pot bubbles, and spills. I have no one to talk to, no one but you - and you should know that even this isn't all that unfolds and unfurls inside my walls._

_I cannot even bring myself to show the boy from the literature club who I am - and you know how I feel about him. Although, when I am in his presence, my self control is worse. It's scaring me. The blood that is my release betrays me then, rushing to my face to embarrass me. I would want to open up, if to no one else, then him. But I am afraid, deathly afraid. Oh my god, diary, do you realise what would happen if he found out about my collection? What would happen if he saw my arm? I cannot risk it - and step back inside my cage, again and again._

_I once read that cages go in search of birds. I cannot tell which of the two I am - perhaps the new member is the bird, and, borne from guilty desire, I will cage him with what I suppose can be called "love" - or I have always been it myself, and the cage seeking me out is everything that binds me in a tightly wrapped parcel, bleeding at the edges._

_I cannot get release from writing any of this. It is true that that which cannot be talked about has to be written down, but art can only express so much, and there is a tempest inside of me that is slowly peeling off the boarding of my ship. It will not be enough. I will have to unwrap myself sooner rather than later if I don't want to be undone. I am putting a smidgeon of hope into the new member of the literature club, but strangely, I cannot even recall his name... Can it even be called love, then?_

_I know that, deep down, he makes me feel at ease as I can be. His words are very kind - he tries so hard to dismantle my insecurities, not knowing of the deeper problem at their core._

_I suppose it is customary for me to say what happened today, and what I will do next. I bought the boy from the literature club a copy of Portrait of Markov. I know it's embarrassing, like so much of what I do... We read it together today, huddled close. I could feel my heart pounding as his shoulder touched mine. We held the book together, two hands from two bodies. I'd never done anything like this - I never thought I would enjoy reading this much with another person. Afterwards, he showed me his poem, and it shows promise. God, I want to be close to him again soon... But I don't even know if he likes me. He spends a lot of time with Sayori, that much I know, and I can't help but think that Natsuki is trying to keep him to herself as well. I won't let them._

_Maybe I'm too broken for anyone like him._

_But that doesn't matter._

_Because I don't matter._

_Thank you for talking to me, diary._

_Thank you for letting me talk._

_Forever yours,_

_Yuri_


	2. Day 2

_Dearest diary,_

_I am sorry if I overwhelmed you yesterday - I know your body is of paper and your mind is hollow, but I still cannot help but think of you as my only friend outside of the books in my library, and unlike to them, I talk to you - so I would hate to offend you. I suppose I am addicted to apologizing to those who I'm close with. The boy at the literature club said so, too._

_Speaking of him-_

_I am in love. I will call it love, because it must be. I know it for certain now._

_The boy at the literature club and I continued reading Portrait of Markov today. I asked him if we could have tea together while reading, and he agreed it would be nice (god, perhaps we are more similar than I imagined...?). As I collected pitcher and kettle, I could feel his eyes on me, on my legs, on my back - maybe it was because of this that, on a careless impulse, I decided to open up and speak my mind around him. Sayori, that kind soul of a girl, had encouraged me to do so earlier... And so, when we walked together to fetch water for Oolong tea, and Monika stopped us offering some snarky quip, I snapped at her. I wanted to have time alone with him, just a short while, and her interference brought out a deep irritation in my mind that I couldn't contain. As we exited the room, my face flushed, deeply, guiltily - and I thought I had to hide it, but... He agreed with what I had said to her, and as though he had known me for years, he lay my mind bare before me, saying the circular thoughts inside my head make light showers into hurricanes. Is it just around him that I am so transparent, or does everyone know...? I cannot say, but when he said this, I panicked. I asked him if he wouldn't hate me for such an awful trait, and... He called me his friend. By god, how much I wanted to tell him just how much more than friendship I feel for him, but I couldn't risk it. I just couldn't._

_But I had yet to see what was to come next. My god, diary, my skull feels like it will explode in a bloody smear. My heart warms my whole body just thinking of what happened afterwards, it's a horrible, hot pressure all over..._

_On my request, he and I sat on the floor to read together - I offered an excuse about back problems, but really, I was feeling dangerous. I had resolved to get close to him again, closer than before, and this way, it would be easier. I could feel him getting nervous as our bodies drew together... His warmth merged with mine, a comfort unlike any I had ever experienced, and soon, that comfort made me feel at ease to immerse myself in the pages of Portrait._

_But... He had brought chocolates._

_You know, my dear friend, how I often think about the metaphors contained in the things we do, say and write? What he acted on next had within it a metaphor that spoke so clearly, my mind spins in discombobulated excitement when I just think back to it..._

_He fed me chocolates as we read. At first, I barely noticed he was doing it; the story of Portrait had me so absorbed, I just opened my mouth, barely... and there they were, his fingers, so close to my lips, gently laying a piece of chocolate on my tongue. It was then that I realized what had happened... Something like this - isn't it something that a boyfriend would do? My terrible blood, betraying me again, rushed to my face. The chocolate melted on my tongue... It tasted exactly like a first kiss. Bashfully, he said it was just something that a friend would do, but I know the truth as well as he - huddled close, my arm on his leg, his shoulder on mine... It was a deliberately romantic situation, we were both to blame for it, and neither of us was about to stop. He took the next piece. I looked at him, my face heating like a summer's day, my breathing heavy. I parted my lips. He placed it inside. I wanted to lean over to kiss his fingers..._

_And then Monika interrupted us, and the magic was lost._

_The tightly-wrapped bundle inside my chest beats at my ribs. It wants to break out so badly, more than ever before in my entire life. I know you are indifferent to when I do it, as you always are, but I have needed to cut myself more often today than I've had to in what feels like weeks. There is so much inside of me, all the particles of my blood are boiling and they're about to tear through my skin. I feel that heat in my chest, on my face, my ears. But I cannot understand it, I can only cut and hope that the excitement bubbling under my surface will find permanent release and subside, eventually. I will keep hurting myself until it does._

_I've told you I always take care that my cuts are superficial - today, I was too eager, and I think I dealt permanent damage to my skin. I don't think I mind. My body hasn't been whole since I started doing it anyway, and it's too exhilarating to stop! And with a little bit of bandaging, the deep wounds eventually stopped bleeding._

_My scars would slowly fade if I ever stopped, and I don't think I am ready for it to be over. It feels too lovely, a guilty kind of lovely. There is a comfort in being damaged, it means you don't have to care. It is all I have, for as long as I don't have him._

_You know that I have been considering talking to a therapist. It is becoming apparent that I might have to soon; I feel broken, and I want to be whole, for him... Maybe even for myself. I know we have talked about this before, and I had, until now, concluded that it wouldn't help, but I am noticing more and more urgently that the literature club has been taking a lot out of me. Spending time reading books and writing with others, especially someone I'm in love with, is making it harder and harder to conceal my obsessiveness – and I am unsure if I am ready to unveil this sad fact about myself before anyone other than him. I read one of my poems to the other members today, and as I did, I grew less careful as I went on - my self-control faded and I entered a trance-like state. Whatever happened during that time of unconsciousness, of absent-mindedness, it must have been horrid. Sayori, Monika, Natsuki, even my love, all of them - they stared at me in offended silence. The boy tried to save the situation by applauding, and the others joined, but I felt helpless, and ashamed, and awful. My chest tight, my breath curt, my face red._

_I've said today that the literature club might be the death of me, and that seems more apt now than ever. Going there has been a balancing act - one that I cannot cease, not now - and I am too afraid of one day falling, crashing, glowing incandescently and perishing._

_But I don't want to die - I want to be in love. I want him, nobody else, just him, badly, oh so badly. And maybe, just maybe... I can succeed. He has been spending less time with Sayori, and as he took my side in one of my many arguments with her, Natsuki won't even talk to him anymore._

_I forgot to mention yesterday - she accused me of stuffing my bra to impress our new member. How immature._

_...no, of course I haven't done any such thing. What are you thinking? Don't put words in my pen, diary. Even if I had done something so shameful, in the end, I don't think he would mind. Maybe it is weakness on my part, maybe I'm not being cautious enough, but now that the events of the day have unfolded, I cannot bring myself to think he won't like me because of a detail like that. I moreso worry how he will react to the wholeness of my body, and the wholeness of my mind... or rather, the lack thereof._

_And even on that front, I have been doing work. Last night, I decided on a whim to test the waters with the boy from the literature club - and I wrote a poem about cutting my bread that I knew I would have to share with him. I distanced the reader from the underlying message by adding the presence of a hungry raccoon I would feed the bread to, my last attempt at concealing my intention of letting him glimpse at the real me. His reaction? Well... I don't think he understood. I was disappointed. I suppose he really hasn't read much poetry before joining the literature club... But it makes me wonder if we could ever be compatible, and if he would accept my flaws as part of me. However, sharing my writing with him just feels right... And you know as well as I that these words flowing from my pen stem from deep within me, from behind all those reinforced walls and terrific monsters._

_I feel like the door to my cage is opening, but I dare not exit it... Perhaps I will confess to him tomorrow, given the opportunity - and I hope there will be an opportunity. I must seize it when it comes, or I won't heal. I need him more than anything, more than my books, more than you._

_But worry not, I won't abandon you. We will talk again tomorrow, as we always have, as we always must._

_I am nothing without you, and you are nothing without me._

_And I feel like nothing without him._

_Yours,_

_Yuri_


	3. Day 3

_My dearest diary,_

_My god, I feel like I am being torn asunder. Terrific, conflicting emotions are tugging at my mind and body on all sides. I am fraught with worry, yet blind with warm excitement. I feel both great elation, yet a guilty disappointment in myself and my actions. And... inside this wild tempest, I feel great, god, I feel better than I have felt in weeks, perhaps months._

_I was not cautious today, not whatsoever - and, strangely, I feel a deep relief and perhaps even a subtle self-love when I experience myself acting this way. I wanted to jump into dangerous, wild waters, into openness, into love, and while I only just dipped my toe in the stream today, I know and feel that the push that will get me carried away by an unrelenting current is a mere day away._

_I took a chance, and I prevailed, against all odds._

_Oh diary, you must be confused - let me clarify: Today's literature club meeting was what you would tritely call an emotional rollercoaster; there were great upward and downward motions, in mood and disorder. I feel like a terrific change is upon us, upon me, moving ever closer as we approach the school festival._

_Sayori has been distant today; pretending to read my book, I watched my love speak to her, then to Monika, returning to his desk immersed in thought and what I could tell was deep preoccupation. Finally, he noticed me staring, wanting to approach him, but knowing his mind was occupied with such delicate matters. In this state, he reminded me of myself... but instead of reinforcing my kinship with him the feeling was bittersweet, knowing that not thoughts of me were filling him, but of her. He sat down next to me, and I offered to lend him an ear: Sayori had closed her emotions off from him today, and he worried about her. Selfishly, my heart sank; unable to shake the thought that he might have feelings for her he did not have for me, I sadly remarked that his concern for her was romantic in nature, quickly catching myself and flushing deeply after having spoken so carelessly. Sayori and him have been together for a long time, what I assume must be the kind of friendship starting in childhood. I was ready to give him adivice, one that I, dangerously, tinged in implications about myself: About the mysteries behind every person we are unaware of, going hand-in-hand with the masks we all wear every day. I looked deeply into his eyes, so much so I could feel he was uncomfortable, looking away. As I could tell how occupied his thoughts were with her, I remarked with sad jealousy that he may be feeling more deeply for her than he realizes; my heart was at the pit of my stomach - she would be a fortunate person to have him feel love, oh, that love I want so very urgently all for myself, for her. But he said outright that he was simple (how wrong he is, how caring...) and in touch with his feelings; so we moved on, and read, without another incident._

_Afterwards, it was, as had become tradition, time to share the poems we had written - and, diary, his poem was exceptional, as though created to be exactly to my liking! I saw my chance, I told him how natural this confidence in his style seemed - and he responded that he had been inspired by my work. I could not help but smile, and flush, my awful blood pulsing at my cheeks... He had taken my work as an example to model his own after. He remarked how it was a shame I never shared my work before, and so, my opportunity, the one I had been hoping would arise since yesterday, lay before me. My thoughts engulfed in scared anticipation of his reply, I lay myself bare before him, telling him all that I, in that moment, could chance to reveal: That I ate by myself in the cafeteria; that the characters inside of books were my only friends, my companions, and my inspirations. That in them, I found people without the capability for judgment, that horrible judgment people express on me when I am myself, people who felt like they were close, people not unlike him... I explained that I do not know how to be normal, or how to be a happy person - that I am bound and closed, that my inner self is contained in the stories I write, and that, until then, I had never exposed it to anyone else. He is patient, respectful, treating me as you would treat any fellow human being, better than I had ever been treated. It was then that I wanted to confess my love to him, but... My courage fell short, and all I could muster was a a weak admission of how happy he made me feel, nonetheless followed by an embarrassed, hot flush I hid in my hands, smiling._

_Thankfully, I had been prepared for this lack of confidence; I had another chance to make him realise my feelings. So, daring to unfurl myself before his eyes, to show him how much he, too, inspired me, I decided to show him last night's poem._

_Diary, I have not yet let you know of this: Before sleep would embrace me yesterday, I decided to write yet another piece about the ghost I am, the ghost I often talked about in your pages before I met him - drenched in my feelings for the boy from the literature club, composed only for him. In it, his hand is extended towards me before a flickering streetlight, and I take it, happily. It was a confession of my kinship, of my amber love - had I been cowardly, I could have handed him another poem I had written in case I failed myself, but after having heard him say how much he admires me, I could not help but want to see his reaction. When it came, I panicked at first - he just handed it back to me, as though blind to what I was trying to convey. However, it soon turned out that I had just made him taciturn, unable to think of a response. Had I overwhelmed him, like so many before? I stammered that I would not be able to explain it to him - but he said he understood what it meant. My head became a fountain of blood; I could not speak, and I felt everything. More awkwardly than even myself, he expressed his inability to handle words; my god, it was utterly endearing! And as he told me that he wanted to spend more time with me, the red, hot fountain that was my visage could not contain a smile. He wanted to hand it back, but, taking his hands, I pushed it towards him. I stuttered again, but he understood. This part of me, this confession, is now in his possession, as is my heart._

_But the romantic aura around me soon made way to an air of ill omen; on some pretense, Sayori had left the club meeting early, taking with her the feeling of optimism and cheer around us. It had become time to assign tasks for the preparation for the school festival, drawing ever closer... We, as the literature club, would showcase ourselves then. Monika and Sayori would create flyers, Natsuki cupcakes - but when it came to me, they struggled to find something I could do... I felt utterly useless. Monika tried to save face by telling me how talented I was, but Natsuki felt offended by this. We had lost our balance without Sayori's kindness... After some thought I was assigned to create the festival's atmosphere, and diary, you know how important atmosphere is to me. I closed my eyes, imagining all that could be done: Aromatherapy certainly would lend itself well to poetry; Jasmine would make feel people more at ease to open up and absorb the feelings in our writing, don't you think? As for my love: He would assist one of us with our tasks - and, diary, this was it, a third, golden opportunity. If only I could convince him to pick me to assist, we would spend more time together - Time all by ourselves, away from judging eyes and slimy tongues. And, diary: I stood my ground. Natsuki tried to win him over to help her bake, but I retorted she had claimed to be able to do it on her own. In the end, her bickering proved useless: He picked me. I could barely believe my luck. All the effort I had exerted had not been for naught. Natsuki was feeling sour, but I pacified her with some lame compliment, trying to make up for Sayori's absence. And finally, I exchanged phone numbers with the boy from the literature club, and everything was set into motion._

_I am bursting at the seams. All you would have to find is the thread that binds my body together to unravel me into a mess of blood, organs and skin. Excitement is welling up in me, what is inside me aches to be released, like I ache for him, and so, I shall let it out. I am thinking I will use the Yanagiba, with its beautiful grip, to find peace tonight. But... I have to be careful not to cut too deep, not this time. I do not want him to notice._

_I thought today that I would open up to him, but really, on Sunday, I will have to contain myself more than I have ever before. I can only hope that the task that has been assigned to us will occupy my mind, our minds, so that I will not take one step too far and fall, ever further, down into love._

_I can barely believe how I have acted today, diary. It was utterly unlike me, and I think... that I loved it. Having set my mind on him, I did almost everything that I had set out to do._

_I fought hard for someone I deeply want. I pried open the iron curtain keeping my burning self inside, and exposed myself to him. I fought against myself, despite myself. At the same time, the fight ended up a losing battle; I couldn't overcome myself wholly. I couldn't tell him everything, not that I love him, not that I want to be with him, not in the clubroom, not in front of everyone._

_At the same time, there is a storm in my brain. Agitated questions and worries blow through me - what if I come on too strong? What if I misinterpreted his actions, and he is not in love with me at all? What if this all ends in catastrophe, and the responsible one is me, only me, always me? I know that, in situations like this, all that one can do is wait and see, but I feel like I am being tormented by the slow passage of time. I want to appeal to him, I want to be with him, badly, but my troubled mind keeps turning my excitement into fear. If I ruin this, I will never forgive myself. I will not see a therapist then, as a just punishment. My mind has made itself up: If I cannot confess this Sunday, or if I ruin everything I have been yearning for, I will not survive._

_Tomorrow is going to be the hardest day of my life. It will be not unlike I'm resting in an iron maiden, holding my breath so the spikes do not touch me. It will be boring, and in so being, horrific, stagnating, and... full of danger and excitement. I can only hope that my books and the work for the festival will entertain me and keep me calm, so I can meet my one and only love (at his own house - I am going to see his house, diary!) with an open and tranquil mind, ready to confess what needs to be confessed._

_But you know my mind is scarcely tranquil - and you know I will have need for you tomorrow._

_I will see you then, my dear friend._

_Yours,_

_Yuri_


End file.
